Somewhere In Time

Well, we got in to see the dentist this week and he successfully pulled my son's tooth. The dental assistant was very compassionate and sensitive and Will (premedicated this time) did fantastic. After the extraction, he remained on the dental chair for a few moments breathing pure oxygen, instead of the extraction mix. I could tell he was really woozy. The assistant informed me that I might have to carry him out - "happens all the time" she said. Mr. Dentist said, "O.k. See you guys next time" and Will began getting up out of the chair; however, what was slowly getting up began rapidly going down. I moved in to stabilize him and swooped him up in my arms and carried him out to the van. He's almost too big for me to carry - almost; I will not go gentle in that mediocre night of my son growing up. As I held him in my arms, his head was on my shoulder and his eyes were shut. And I was suddenly lost in memory...

About thirty years ago, in a small East Texas town, a dad and his son were in the doctor's office. The son was scheduled for a shot that day, probably tetanus or something, for those were days of barefeet and glass and rusty nails. The shot was given and ample time for the son to regain his legs was taken. The sun was unveiled that afternoon, bright and hot. Dad held the door open for me and I stepped out into the bright and then everything went dark. The only sensation was that of falling, rapidly. I remember coming to in the arms of my dad as he carried me, almost too big for him, back to the car and safely home. Although I don't remember seeing it, I do remember feeling swooped up into my dad's arms; arms of strength and safety and compassion and determination. I imagine his arms raged as well against the dying of the light of my boyhood; against a son becoming more than his dad could handle. But on that hot afternoon in Naples, Texas, my dad was my hero. I put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, safe.

Little did I know that moment in time would revisit me; different details, same love. How I wished that walk to the van the other afternoon would've lasted; why couldn't that distance have been miles instead of moments? Too fast, too soon. But for that moment, I was his hero and he was my boy, head on my shoulder, eyes closed, and safe. Me? I kept my eyes open, trying to take in as much of the light of that moment as I fatherly could. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light...